


anytime you're ready

by tozierbraks



Series: anytime you're ready [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Secret Admirer, just 12k of stanlon fluff to be honest, no pennywise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 02:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15675789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tozierbraks/pseuds/tozierbraks
Summary: Twenty minutes later the wind was getting harsher, he pulled his sweatshirt tighter around himself and gripped his tea between laced fingers. It shook the trees around him, creating a soothing rustling sound as it rushed through the branches. Still no jays in sight, but there was something flitting in his peripheral vision, flashing white every time the breeze got especially strong. He turned to find it and noticed a small piece of rolled paper sticking out of the entrance to the birdhouse. Curious, he got up to grab it and carefully unrolled it. The handwriting inside was large and blocky.Dear Stan...--or: stanlon secret admirer college au!





	anytime you're ready

**Author's Note:**

> ☼ hey!! i love these boys so i hope you enjoy, this au has been rattling around in my head forever and i'll probably write more in this universe if anyone is interested :)
> 
> ☼ "buff chick" nights are real at umaine, but they're technically wednesdays
> 
> ☼ the game they play in bill and eddie's room is king's cup, but it felt too clunky to explain that

“ _1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 1, 2, 3…”_     
  
Stan counted rhythmically in his head as he tapped his pencil on his notebook, careful to return to the same spot each time. When it slipped and landed an inch to the right he counted out four more in the new spot before returning to the old, his shoulders suddenly a little more tense than before.  
  
His professor’s clear voice jerked him out of his concentration, calling his name. Stan gave a small wave of recognition, raising his eyes to the front of the small, stuffy room. His professor had already moved on, but instead Stan locked eyes with one of his classmates sitting in the front row. Mike Hanlon, who Stan mostly knew as one of UMaine’s star football players, was looking at him with a soft smile. Mike Hanlon with his deep brown eyes, strong broad shoulders, and thoughtful class input. Not that Stan had been paying attention. He flashed a quick smile back before darting his eyes around the room, trying hard to look very interested in a little brown speck on the pale yellow wall. He could still feel Mike’s gaze on him, and even saw his grin widen out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“ _Pleasepleaseplease look away,_ ” his mind ran as he felt himself flushing. Thank god for small favors, their professor was calling the end of class. Stan had to stay, his name had been called earlier because it was his turn to meet with her and finalize his project proposal. He stayed in his seat, eyes glued to his notes while the other students filed out.  
  
“Alright, Stanley, up here please.”  
  
Their conversation was brief. She had been impressed with his thoroughness, but thought that his proposal was more of a graduate level project.  
  
“Scale it back to the blue jay population in just one location on campus and it’ll be perfect. If you stick around next year we can do the rest.”  
  
Walking back to his dorm Stan worked to focus on her positive feedback, shaking out the small constructive criticisms that just wouldn’t stop creeping into his mind. He planned to redo the proposal right away and have it sent before dinner, quick and clean. Hopefully his roommate wasn’t home, he might even be able to start on his history paper if that was the case.

The actual road to his dorm building was straightforward but long, about a twenty minute walk from the center of campus. Luckily during his frequent early morning walks Stan had found a winding path through the woods that really only cut about five minutes, but allowed him to be surrounded by peaceful quiet rather than rushing college students who somehow always found a way to bump into him despite the very wide sidewalks. He turned onto the path now and took a deep, grateful breath of the crisp fall air.  
  
Technically Spring was Stan’s favorite time of year, it was bright and hopeful in a way that he found very comforting; But Fall was a close second. He loved the steady routines of nature, and the changing colors of the leaves had always been a constant he could rely on. Maine was currently in mid-October when the chill really started to set in, causing Stan to pull the buttons of his jacket closed and shuffle faster down the barely-beaten path.  
  
Of course it had been wishful thinking that Richie would be out. He was only out when Eddie didn’t have class, and that was still only a sometimes thing. Stan pushed through the door and hung his bag on the hook just inside. Making his way to his desk he kicked a few loose articles of clothing over to Richie’s side.  
  
“You don’t appreciate my floor decor? I thought it added a certain something to your boring...everything.”  
  
“Slob chic? Not quite my taste.”  
  
Richie grinned and sat up, abandoning the textbook he had at least been pretending to read. There was a glint in his eye that Stan recognized and he avoided any further eye contact as he plopped down in his stiff wooden chair. _If you don’t give him attention he might just go away_. No such luck. Richie was up in a flash, wrapping his lanky arms around Stan’s neck in a messy imitation of a hug.  
  
“Watcha up to, Stanny? Wanna do something?”  
  
“I have work, Richie.”  
  
“Don’t we all?”

“So do it.”  
  
“Mmm, no. But I’ll let you do yours. Eds will be here at some point anyways.”  
  
That threat pushed Stan to move even faster, knowing that as soon as Eddie landed it would be near impossible to get anything done with the the two of them squabbling on Richie’s bed. He opened his laptop and found his report quickly, making a copy and saving the original for next year. He skimmed it and deleted large chunks, narrowing it down to a very simple premise.

He would set up a small bird habitat in a clearing off of his “secret” path and spend two sessions a week observing to count the number of unique blue jays he saw, keeping track to notice seasonal changes. Overall he thought it barely counted as a research project, it was full of holes and didn’t really prove much of anything; But there would be plenty of time for bigger and better things in his career. He sent the new copy just in time as their door swung open, Eddie marching in and burying his face in Richie’s shoulder with a dramatic groan.  
  
“Why does Eddie have your key, Richie?”  
  
“Who knows,” Richie shrugged, “fell out of my pocket in his room probably?”  
  
A muffled “Mmhmmph” came from where Eddie’s face was still pressed into Richie’s arm, his body slumping against the wall behind them.  
  
“‘Sup, Spaghetti?”  
  
The nickname earned Richie a lazy punch to his side as Eddie finally sat up.  
  
“Just so much work. And my lab partner is a total dick, just being around him is completely draining." He rubbed harshly at his shoulder prompting Richie to push his hand aside and replace it with his own, making Eddie whine gratefully as he worked out the knot.

"Jeez babe, tense. Bet there's a better way I could help," Richie purred, sliding his hand beneath the collar of Eddie's shirt and mouthing at his neck. Stan cleared his throat without turning around, he was used to the tempo of these conversations and already knew where Richie had been headed.

"You're welcome too, Stanley. God knows you're even tighter than Eddie."

Eddie gave a noise of disapproval and wrapped himself possessively around Richie before starting another story about his asshole of a chemistry partner. But Stan wasn't really listening anymore, he was already planning the design of the bird box. To be honest building wasn't exactly his strength, he might have to bug Ben to help him. He began absentmindedly sketching plans on the front page of his notebook until Eddie's voice cut back into his consciousness.

"Stan, dinner?"

Stan nodded, carefully finishing a final line on one of his ideas and pushing himself away from his desk to follow them out the door.

York Dining Hall was crowded as usual, Thursdays were buffalo chicken nights or, "Buff Chick Thursday" as the student body lovingly called it, and people flocked from all over campus for it. Bill and Ben had spread their belongings as thinly as they could between six chairs shoved around a couple of small tables shoved together, they looked relieved to see Richie, Eddie, and Stan arrive to claim their seats amongst the fierce competition.

Bill had his laptop out in front of him as he typed furiously, a common sight recently as he raced to finish a draft of his creative writing capstone project. Even as he shoveled a chicken wrap into his mouth with one hand the other didn't stop clacking on the keys. He barely seemed to register Richie leaning over to press a bunch of nonsense keys, too quick for Eddie trying to grab his wrist to stop him. Soon Bev fell in beside Ben, kissing his cheek and digging in to her own dinner. Stan smiled to himself. Having everyone together always made him feel safe, it was just right. Right enough that he never really envied Richie and Eddie or Beverly and Ben, or even Bill and his computer. Their company was enough to make him comfortable and happy.

* * *

 

On Thursday afternoon Stan arrived his usual twelve minutes early to his ecological research class. He filled the time by refining his box plans, considering what dimensions would be reasonable. The class filled in around him and he barely noticed when someone sat beside him. Until that someone spoke up in a deep, mellow voice.

"Is that for your project?" Stan raised his eyes to find Mike Hanlon looking at him expectantly.

"Oh, uh, yeah."

"Cool. So what is it?" Mike asked, laughing a little at himself. Mike's smile the other day had been enough to get Stan's heart beating a little fast, but this close up it was completely overwhelming. Tearing his eyes away from the dimple on Mike's left cheek Stan tried to explain his project.  
  
“...and the idea is basically to track migration patterns to see if they’re changing because of climate change. That’s what I’d like to eventually study, what animal patterns, specifically of birds, can tell us about the way things are cha-. I’m sorry, I’m totally rambling,” he cut off, lowering his eyes.  
  
“Don’t apologize, I asked because I wanted to know. You’ll have to let me know what you find out.”  
  
“Yeah, as long as I manage to get this thing built. I’m pretty useless with tools but I have a friend who can help, hopefully.”  
  
“I could help. I’m not a pro, but I’ve mended a lot of fences, I’m sure I could put something like that together.”  
  
Stan couldn’t help the way his eyebrows dipped in confusion, surprised by the offer. Unfortunately Mike seemed to read his expression as one of displeasure and he started to backtrack.  
  
“Unless you wanted your friend to do it, I g-”  
  
“No!” Stan blurted, learning closer to Mike. “I mean, that would be really helpful, thank you.”  
  
“Great,” Mike replied, that horribly distracting smile back on his face. He reached his arm over to Stan’s desk and scribbled his phone number on the corner of the notebook above the sketches. “Call me.”  
  
A little wide eyed, Stan gave a short, quick nod. It was all he could manage before their professor barged in, her arms full and her hair in a frizzy bun. She spouted her usual apologies for being late and hurried to set up her presentation. As she began her lecture on the importance of the intersection between reliability and validity Stan let his eyes wander back to the numbers on the page. He traced a box around them with his pencil and went over the lines until they were dark and shiny, and then a few more times just for good measure.

It didn’t occur to him that Mike might notice until halfway through class. Faking nonchalance he slowly turned to a new page and pretended to be incredibly engaged with the lecture, squinting at the PowerPoint and taking shorthand notes. He was relieved when Mike’s name was called to stay after class for his own project discussion, allowing Stan the chance to slip out past him with a squeaky “bye!”

* * *

  
“What about Starlord and Gamora? Bet you would look killer in green.”  
  
“Richie, I already told you I’m going as Spiderman, I’m not getting green for you. Just do Starlord yourself.”

“I’d rather you do Starlord _your_ self, if that’s the case.” Richie suggested slyly. Eddie rolled his eyes and turned the conversation on Stan who was lying on his bed with his notebook in lap and his head in Beverly’s lap as she stroked her hand through his curls.  
  
“What are you gonna be, Stan?”  
  
“Dunno, hadn’t really thought about it. Maybe Dave. Like when Jim Halpert just put a nametag on that said Dave.”  
  
“Cute,” Richie deadpanned.  
  
“Jump in with me and Ben,” Bev chimed in. “We’re doing Han and Leia, be our Luke.”  
  
“Appropriate, the ultimate third wheel,” Stan replied flatly. She smacked the side of his head.  
  
“Seriously, it would be fun. But I don’t think we have the wardrobe for full on robe Skywalker. We’ll have to go with sexy all-black-everything Luke from Jedi. Should I straighten this?” she mused, tugging on his hair. “It’s so cute but not very in character.”  
  
“Well you still have two weeks to agonize over it,” he assured her as he flipped through his notebook to find his plans. He almost had the dimensions down and wanted to take a picture to send to Ben so he could confirm it was doable. Right as he snapped the photo Bev’s arm shot out, her finger landing on the phone number at the top of the page.  
  
“What’s this?” She asked.  
  
“It’s nothing,”  
  
“Doesn’t look like nothing, you highlighted the hell out of it.”  
  
“Get your arm out of the way, I need to take this picture.”  
  
“Not until you tell me,” she waved her hand in front of his phone. Stan sighed and gave in.  
  
“Fine. Do you know Mike Hanlon?” It was a long shot on their campus of almost twelve thousand, but Maine was also a suspiciously small world.  
  
“I know _of_ him. He was in a class with Ben once, and obviously he’s at the football games when we go.”  
  
“Right. Well he’s in this class with me, and he asked me about my project. I told him I needed to build this thing but didn’t really know how so he offered to help and wrote his number there.”

“And then you circled it about a billion times?” She asked. She was smiling now, and Stan looked up at her to see a glint growing in her eye.  
  
“It’s a box, not a circle.”  
  
“He’s pretty cute, huh?”  
  
“What? I don’t know. I mean, I wouldn’t have really noticed, we’re just in cl-” His stammering was interrupted by an entirely too loud wolf whistle from Richie.  
  
“Stanny’s got the hots for Hanlon! And who could blame you, the guy’s a dreamboat.” Stan sent his sharpest glare Richie’s way, but he barely faltered, used to being on the receiving end.  
  
“Not to be annoying too,” Eddie piped up, “but Richie’s kinda right. He’s really cute. And he’s been to a few of the LGBT group events. He was kinda quiet, but he was there alone so I didn’t really get ‘ally vibes,’” he finished, raising his fingers in air quotes.  
  
“So what you’re telling me,” Beverly said, “is that we’re texting him right this second.” She tried to swipe Stan’s phone but he had been prepared and was clutching it tightly. He slid it behind his back and shook his head.  
  
“You’re all ridiculous. We’re classmates. He was being helpful.”  
  
Richie snorted.  
  
“Yeah, cause he has no better way to spend his time than by helping a platonic acquaintance put together a birdhouse.”  
  
“And he definitely gives his number out to everyone in all of his classes,” Bev added, trying to snake her hand under him as he wiggled uncomfortably away from her. She used one hand to tickle his side and used his responding jerk to grab the phone and hold it above her head triumphantly. Stan scrambled to sit up but didn’t try to grab it, too worried about sending it flying to the floor.  
  
“Okay, what do we say?” She typed in his passcode without looking and went straight for his contacts. Then she snagged the notebook from his lap and punched in the number.

“Technically he told me to call him,” Stan grumbled, planting his chin in his hand and glaring ahead of him at no one in particular.  
  
“...that’s fucking adorable,” she huffed. But she softened when she saw the tension in Stan’s shoulders. “Look, I don’t want to embarrass you, and I can’t make you do anything. But I can strongly suggest that you call this cute boy who gave you his phone number. Worst case you spend a little time with someone new and you get your project ready.”  
  
“And best case you get laid!” Richie called in a sing-song voice.  
  
“Don’t worry Stan, I’ll get him for you,” Eddie laughed as he pulled a pillow out from under himself to whip Richie with. The attack fell apart when Richie grabbed his sides to pull Eddie on top of himself and Stan looked away just in time to avoid watching them swap some spit. Bev took the almost private moment to grab his hand and give him an earnest look. Then she jumped to her feet.  
  
“Let’s go boys, I’m starving.” A pull to the back of Eddie’s shirt got them both moving and with a slam of the door Stan was alone. Chewing his bottom lip he grabbed his phone from where Bev had dropped it on his pillow. He pressed his finger to unlock it and it opened to the empty message screen, Mike’s new contact name at the top. Stan almost choked at Bev’s choice;  
“mikey” followed by a few sparkling heart emojis for good measure.

He hated that he didn’t hate it.

* * *

 

The call had taken almost every ounce of courage he had, and even some that he channeled from Bev, but the next Saturday morning Stan stood in one of the University’s workshops scrolling through his phone. The shop was blessedly empty, one of the many benefits of being a morning person.

He jumped when the door clicked open and Mike stepped through carrying two paper cups. He wore a big navy blue UMaine football hoodie over his dark jeans. Stan wondered if the sweatshirt was as soft on the inside as it looked.

“Hey,” Mike greeted. He sounded surprisingly chipper for seven in the morning. Stan was more used to his friends who still sounded groggy when they had to be up by ten.

“Hi,” he replied. “Thanks again for meeting me so early. And for meeting me at all, I guess.”

“Nah, I’d be up anyways.” He held up the cups in his hands. “Coffee or tea? I got one of each just in case.”  
  
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”  
  
“No, but I wanted to.”  
  
“Right. Well, tea would be amazing right now, actually,” Stan conceded.  
  
“Noted,” Mike smiled as he closed the gap between them to hand Stan the still steaming drink. Stan wrapped his hands around it, appreciating the warmth spreading through his fingers.  
  
“So, I figure you can measure and cut the boards, and I can put them together?”  
  
Stan had almost forgotten why they were actually there, too lost in the warmth that had spread beyond his fingers and into his chest, wrapping tightly around his ribs.  
  
“Sounds good. I already dug out the pieces from the scrap bin and marked them. But to be honest I’ve never used a saw, so I was procrastinating that part.”  
  
“Better to do it with some witnesses anyways, just in case” Mike laughed. “Here, follow me.” He picked up a piece of lumber from the table in front of them and led Stan over to an old band saw. “It’s not so complicated. Come stand here,” he gestured to the space between his own body and the saw. Stan slid into it, very aware of the only several inches of space that separated his back from Mike’s chest. Mike lifted his arms on either side of him to place the wood on the saw and Stan was surrounded by an earthy, masculine smell that made him dizzy. “Now, this part is really simple. Once it’s on, you just line up your measurement with the saw and push the wood through.” He pushed it forward a little to illustrate, his chest pressing against Stan’s shoulders. Stan could feel his voice rumble when he asked, “Ready?”  
  
Stan nodded, just about all he could manage to get out, and replaced Mike’s hands on the wood with his own. Mike stepped away from him for a moment and Stan let out the breath that had been tightly trapped in his lungs. When Mike returned he slid a pair of safety goggles over Stan’s eyes.  
  
“I’m going to turn it on, don’t overthink it.”  
  
_Easier said than done.  
__  
_ The saw buzzed to life with a loud whirring. Stan checked and double checked the line on the wood and counted down, _three, two, one_. He pushed it slowly against the saw, surprised at how easily it slid through. When it popped out the other side Mike flipped the switch back off.  
  
“See, you’re a natural.” From anyone else the remark might have felt sarcastic, it was obviously not that difficult, but pretty much everything Mike said sounded sincere, and Stan actually did feel a flash of pride at the smooth cut.  
  
“Do a couple more, I’m just going to grab the nails I need.”  
  
In the couple of minutes it took Stan to cut all seven pieces they worked in a comfortable quiet, the only sounds coming from the saw and the steady rhythm of Mike’s hammering. When he finished he turned to watch Mike work, focused on the beam of sunlight that fell across his face from a high window and highlighted his high cheekbones. He was left handed, Stan noticed.  
  
“Why have you fixed so many fences?” Stan asked. Mike paused to pull his sweatshirt over his head and toss it on the table.  
  
“I grew up on a farm. There’s always little things to be fixed, but especially fences.”  
  
“And that’s why you’re such a morning person?”  
  
“I guess so, yeah. I also just like a little peace and quiet and that’s the best time to find it.”  
  
While Mike went back to work Stan spent a minute lost in a daydream about a quiet morning on Mike’s farm, one cup of coffee and one of tea on a small table between two chairs on a porch. God, when did he turn eighty? And, more importantly, when did he start actually daydreaming about Mike Hanlon? Mike was making it pretty damn easy, though and Stan could almost feel Bev on his shoulder cheering him on.  
  
He shook his head and brought the last few pieces over to Mike who had almost the whole box done. Now that the sweatshirt was gone Stan could see tight muscles flexing under Mike’s red t-shirt. Richie’s voice popped into his head, making a million and one bad puns about “getting nailed.”  
  
“There, all done.” Mike held up the house to inspect the sides and handed it to Stan for approval. It was perfect, care evident in all of the carefully aligned edges. He told Mike as such, and thanked him about a hundred more times.  
  
“Really, Mike, if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you--” Mike held up his hands.  
  
“No need. But if you really wanted to do something for me, you could save the seat next to you in class for me. ‘Cause you’re always there so early.” A light blush rose in Stan’s cheeks, he could feel it, and was doing everything he could to ignore it.  
  
“Yeah, okay.”  
  
“Okay.” Mike grinned. “Should we go set this thing up?”

 

By the time they finished digging the pole into the ground and nailing the birdhouse to it, it was nearly ten. Stan stepped back to inspect the setup and actually felt excited about his project for the first time. It was simple and straightforward, and maybe that’s kind of what he needed right now. He realized Mike was watching him with a small smile.  
  
“It’s perfect, Mike. You’re a lifesaver.”  
  
“It’s nothing you couldn’t have done yourself, but I’m glad I could show you the way.” Mike took slow steps as he spoke, stopping short just in front of Stan. The forest was quiet but Stan’s head was buzzing. He met Mike’s eyes and was convinced that they could both hear the loud thudding of his heart. He waited for one of the million scenarios running through his head to play out, schooling his expression into one that he hoped (but didn’t necessarily believe) was casual.  
  
“Practice starts in a half hour, so I have to head out,” Mike said quietly. Stan nodded. “See you on Tuesday? Don’t forget to save me that seat.”  
  
“Will do.”  
  
It felt awkward for Mike to just leave like that, like something was going unfinished. But Stan didn’t stop him as he disappeared down the thin, winding path. When he was out of sight Stan collapsed against a wiry birch tree, the tension leaving his body in a loud sigh.

* * *

 

“Turn around,” Bev’s voice was muffled around the pins she held between her teeth. Stan obeyed, spinning in a tight circle on the wooden dorm chair they were substituting as a stool. She folded another piece of the thick black vest she had thrifted from the nearby Goodwill and pinned it at his side so it hugged his waist. Ben sat on her bed with schoolwork scattered around him. Bev was lucky enough to score one of the single rooms shoved haphazardly at the end of the hallways of the old dorm buildings. It was only really a single in form, in function Ben and Bev had shared it almost the entire two years she had managed to keep it.  
  
“So, I’ve waited long enough to ask, how was Saturday?”  
  
“Subtle, waiting until I’m your captive,” Stan scoffed. She shrugged and stuck another pin, narrowly avoiding his hipbone.  
  
“I never claimed to be subtle.”  
  
“Fine. Saturday was nice, he was very helpful.”  
  
“Who was?” Ben spoke up from underneath his mountain of schoolwork.  
  
“Please, Ben, I know she told you.” Ben went a little red and laughed.  
  
“You’re right. Thought I could get away with it. Anyways, how’s Mike? We haven’t talked much since last year.”  
  
“I don’t have a lot of context before this semester, but he seems to be doing…well, I guess, I don’t know,” Stan huffed.  
  
“Except for how bad he wants Stan and how glacially that’s moving,” Bev smirked at Ben and he grinned back at her.”  
  
“It’s been a week!” Stan sputtered, “And he was just doing me a favor! Sorry, no secret sexy workshop shenanigans to share.” Unless they wanted to hear about the shiver down his spine when Mike’s chest had pressed against him at the saw. Which, they probably did, but too bad.  
  
Stan knew all of his friends meant well, and they were all right when they spouted how good of a guy Mike was, how handsome he was. But Stan already had everything he needed. He was successful in his schoolwork, already had graduate school prospects, and had a circle of obnoxious, supportive friends. Everything made sense, everything had a place. He had built this life around himself and it surrounded him like a thick blanket, keeping him safe.  
  
“Are you sure this costume is going to be done by next weekend? It feels like you're sticking me all over." It was an obvious attempt at changing the subject, but thankfully Bev took the hint.

"Have faith, Stanley. And I've decided, I'm straightening your hair."

"Glad you've got that all settled for me, then."

* * *

 

With the site all set up Stan blocked out two hours on Monday morning to do his first observation. He brought a some birdseed, his favorite zip up hoodie, and a sketchbook. Richie had called him crazy for not bringing along a pair of headphones, but Stan preferred the silence. He stepped out into the crisp autumn morning, the wind pushing against his back. Armed with a fresh cup of tea from the dining hall he made the routine walk to his spot, filled a small bowl with the birdseed, and placed it on the ledge at the bottom of the birdhouse. Then he sat on a smooth boulder just outside of the clearing, his sketchbook on his lap.

It didn't take long for the birds to start investigating, but he was really only looking for one species. Blue jays had always been one of his favorites. Their striking blue color was beautiful against the Maine foliage no matter the season, but especially now that they would contrast with the deep orange leaves. They were by no means the most threatened species in the area, Stan would have to be more particular about his graduate work if he wanted to focus on environmental impact, but he had allowed himself to be a little selfish this time. He crossed his legs underneath him and prepared to wait.

Twenty minutes later the wind was getting harsher, he pulled his sweatshirt tighter around himself and gripped his tea between laced fingers. It shook the trees around him, creating a soothing rustling sound as it rushed through the branches. Still no jays in sight, but there was something flitting in his peripheral vision, flashing white every time the breeze got especially strong. He turned to find it and noticed a small piece of rolled paper sticking out of the entrance to the birdhouse. Curious, he got up to grab it and carefully unrolled it. The handwriting inside was large and blocky.  

_Dear Stan,_

_I hope this being here doesn't keep any birds away. Hopefully you find it before one of them takes it away and uses it for a nest._

_First of all, I'm not writing this to hide from you. I want you to know that I like you, a lot. But I don't want to scare you away, so I'll keep this on your terms. Be warned, I’m no poet._

_You're a hard one to crack. Every time we talk it feels like starting back at square one with getting to know you, but the pieces I've seen make it worth it to keep trying. I get the feeling that you don't know that you're interesting, which is a shame. Please don't feel like you need to say anything back, I just want to try and help you see yourself the way I see you._

_\- Your not-so-secret admirer_

Stan stood in the clearing, wide-eyed with his mouth gaping. He ran his fingers over the page, convincing himself it was actually there. It wasn’t until he felt the slight indent in the paper from the pen lines that he really believed he was holding anything at all. He read it again, and then a third time before folding it in half. Bev's voice was bouncing around his head, trying to grab his attention, but he ignored it. He tried to decide if he was offended by the 'back to square one' comment, but he wasn't naive, he knew he wasn't the most open person.

More importantly, someone had to be behind this. Someone who knew where the birdhouse was. Someone who knew Stan well enough to know he was reserved, but not well enough to get past square one. Bev's voice got more insistent. He still pushed it away. It must have been one of his friends trying to fuck with him. Richie was his first thought, but the handwriting was all wrong. It was actually closest to Bill's. Stan's face paled. Bill, his only single friend. His single, messy, lovable but not like _that_ friend. There had often been a weird tension between them. Technically they could even up the group, make them a neat set of three happy couples. Except that they wouldn't actually be happy.

 _Please if there is a god_ , he thought, _let it not be Bill_.

It couldn’t be, anyways.

Bill wouldn't be cautious enough to put this 'on Stan’s terms.'

Bill wouldn't imply he didn't really know Stan, he was one of the few who actually did.

Bill didn't know where the birdhouse was.

Stan shook his head, shoved the note into his pocket and marched out of the clearing, barely remembering to snag his sketchbook. He made it back to his room before he realized he hadn't actually done his two hour observation. _Fuck_. He slapped his hand to his cheek and let it drag down his face. Checking his watch he realized that Richie was definitely still in there and, with any luck, still asleep. He twisted his key in the lock as quietly as possible and slid into the room, holding the doorknob to keep it silent. Richie muttered a little and flipped over, but didn't wake up.

The note was burning a hole in his pocket, he started to look for any Richie-proof place to hide it. Those proved to be few and far between. His eyes darted to the shelves hung on the wall over his desk. They were filled with textbooks. _Perfect_. He pulled the note out, read it over carefully one more time, and slid it between his old Sociology book and a binder from  his chemistry elective.  
  
He collapsed face first on his bed, his heart still racing. He thought about texting Bev, but decided against it. He already knew what she would say. Because even though there was really only one possibility, to Stan, it was still somehow impossible.

* * *

 

The next day was Tuesday. His first research class since building the house, since finding the note. He was there even earlier than usual, the silence of the empty classroom ringing in his ears. He had tried his best to not think about the note because things got messy when he did. True to his word, his jacket was spread out across the seat next to him waiting for Mike. Mike, who also loved early mornings. Mike, with his kind eyes. (Mike, who thought Stan was interesting). The sound of footsteps outside pulled Stan out of his own head. He watched the door, waiting, but it was just some girl who sat across the room.  
  
His foot started tapping as he waited, he was facing his notebook but his eyes were watching the door way. One, two, three more people came in and then there he was. Stan waited for the inevitable anxiety, for his foot to start hitting the floor a little harder, but it didn’t come. There was a nervousness in his gut, but it was manageable and almost exciting. He looked up and gave a small smile, grabbing his jacket from the chair.

_Oh god, what if he was just kidding about saving him a s-_

But Mike smiled right back and slid into the slightly too small desk.  
  
“Hey, how’s it going?”  
  
He looked a little more tired than usual, Stan noticed.  
  
“Good,” Stan replied, trying to keep his voice even. “How are you?”  
  
“Good, good,” Mike replied easily. He stretched his legs out toward the desk in front of him and yawned.  
  
“Are you tired?” Stan blurted, and then scolded himself.  
  
_What a weird thing to ask him_ , _why did you do that?  
__  
_ But Mike just nodded.  
  
“A little, a partial draft of my thesis is due at the end of the month so I was up late.”

His thesis? Stan suddenly realized he had never asked Mike about his own major, too caught up in his own head every time they were together.  
  
“I’m sorry, I never asked your major. What’s your thesis?”  
  
“No worries, we had a mission on Saturday. I’m a history major, agriculture minor. My thesis is about crimes committed or covered up by the CIA, specifically those targeting Black Americans.”  
  
“Oh wow,” Stan said. “That’s really interesting.” He hoped he sounded sincere, he was. “Do you think you’ll publish it?”  
  
“Hopefully, but it’s not always easy to find a place for research like that. At least one that’s not already a niche.”  
  
Stan nodded.  
  
“Is that what you think you want to do? Be a historian, I mean?”  
  
“That’s kind of the dream. It would probably mean teaching, maybe even here. I can’t really go too far.”  
  
“Because of the farm?”  
  
“Yeah, only child, and I would never want it to fall apart, it means a lot to me.”  
  
“And that’s why the agriculture minor?”  
  
Mike shrugged and grinned back.  
  
“Yeah, technically my dad taught me everything I would need to know. But I had the room in my schedule and thought it couldn’t hurt.”  
  
More than ever Stan wanted to see this farm. He had also considered teaching once he had completed his PhD. Maybe it could also be here.  
  
“Where is the farm?”  
  
“Derry, about thirty min-”  
  
Stan sat up straight, blinking.  
  
“What?” He nearly yelped. Mike chuckled.  
  
“You know it?”  
  
“I’m from there.”  
  
“Really?” Mike’s eyes were wide.  
  
“How is that possible? Our graduating class was only two hundred kids, there’s no way I wouldn’t have noticed you.”  
  
“I went to Bangor schools, my mom works there so it was easier than driving all the way into town, and then in high school my parents thought I had a better shot at a sports scholarship if I stayed there. They were right.”  
  
“Wow,” Stan said.  
  
“Small world,” Mike agreed. “Looks like we missed out on a few extra years.”  
  
Stan’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t thought about the note since Mike had arrived, the conversation had flowed so easily he hadn’t had a chance. Now though, the words swam behind his eyes. Was Mike expecting him to bring it up? Stan couldn’t possibly, not yet. He wanted to go back to when it was easy, so he asked Mike again about his thesis. Mike’s usually soft eyes took on a passionate hardness as he explained the research he had already written on, his natural charisma turning serious but never less captivating. All too soon their professor was hurrying in, late again, and they had to stop. Stan was disappointed.  
  
This time when the lecture started he could still feel Mike’s energy beside him. He caught himself absently leaning closer, his head propped on his hand. He was definitely not going to bring up the note, but maybe he could just leave it up to chance. He stopped the spirals he had been drawing in the margins of his notebook and hovered his pencil over the corner of the page instead. He held his breath and started writing.  
  
_I think you’re interesting too_.  
  
Technically he would never know if Mike actually saw it. But he had a feeling that the way Mike’s knee brushed against his own a few minutes later was no accident.

* * *

 

He made up his observation time on Wednesday, deciding he would just use the mistake as a way to fluff up the reflections section of the paper. Rain drizzled over the trees and dripped onto the hood of his rain jacket. He didn’t notice the way his heart was hammering until he walked up to the birdhouse and it fell. There was no note.  
He crossed back to his sitting rock and waited. Waiting left entirely too much time for thinking, in Stan’s opinion. He studied a patch of bright yellow wildflowers that grew beside the boulder. Unbidden, the memory of being here with Mike almost a week ago bloomed in his mind. He remembered Mike crossing the clearing to stand in front of him. He remembered his own racing thoughts.  
  
_Are you going to kiss me?_ _  
_ _Do I want you to kiss me?_ _  
_ _Please kiss me.  
_  
But he hadn’t. And when he left Stan hadn’t stopped him.  
  
He stood and stretched his arms high. On a whim he bent down to pick one of the flowers, the color a flash of sunshine. Eyeing the birdhouse, he followed his gut and placed the flower gently in the entrance, sticking out just enough to be seen. He retreated back to his seat, ready for an uneventful hour, when suddenly a bright flash of blue caught his eye. A small jay perched on the ledge of the birdhouse, picking curiously at the food he had left. He smiled and began a rough sketch, noting anything that might set it apart. He marked it Jay 1.

* * *

 

Thursday afternoon Stan was back at it, fulfilling his proposal’s promise of two observations a week. When he reached the spot his eyes were trained on the birdhouse. He spotted it while still on the trail, a small white corner peeking out. He practically ran the rest of the way, snatching the note and nearly ripping it in his haste to open it. The same large, blocky letters.  
  
_Dear Stan,_

 _How did you know yellow is my favorite color?  
I’m glad I asked you to save me that seat, research is quickly becoming my favorite part of the week. I’ve been thinking a lot about how we both grew up in Derry. We probably crossed paths a hundred times. Or maybe not, because I think I would have noticed you. Either way, it feels like kind of a sign that we met here anyways, like the universe wasn’t going to quit until we ran into each other.  
Did you know that this class isn’t actually the first time I wanted to talk to you? I saw you with Eddie Kaspbrak at a club event last year. I chickened out then, you’re a little intimidating. I regretted it for a month. Then you show up in this elective I didn’t even technically need to take. See? The universe.  
  
\- YNSSA_  
  
There it was again, the lightness that made Stan feel like he could float away. That kind of nervousness that’s as exciting as it is terrifying. Without thinking, Stan plucked another flower from the ground and placed it where the note had been. Plopping down in the grass, he read it again.  
“I’ve been thinking a lot about how we were both in Derry.”  
  
_He’s thinking a lot about me._

 

Stan was disappointed to see his professor already there and set up when he got to class that afternoon. They would start right on time, not nearly enough time to waste before class. She asked him for updates on his work and just as he was telling her about Jay 1 Mike rushed into the room, lifting Stan’s jacket from the seat next to him and handing it back to him.  
  
“Wait, you actually saw one?” He interrupted, grinning at Stan. Their professor took the cue to head back to the front of the room.  
  
“Yeah,” Stan replied, dazed by Mike’s sudden appearance.  
  
“What’s its name?”  
  
Stan chuckled.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean what are you calling it?”  
  
“Right now he’s just Jay 1.”  
  
“No way, he has to have a name. What does he look like?”  
  
“Like pretty much any other blue jay,” Stan said, but he flipped through his notebook to find his sketch. “He’s kind of round, I guess.”  
  
“Round? Blue and round...blueberry!” Mike’s enthusiasm was infectious, Stan wore a wide smile.  
  
“You want me to call it Blueberry?”  
  
“Absolutely I do.”  
  
“Fine, just for you then.” It might have been the closest thing to flirting Stan had ever said in his life, it felt foreign on his tongue. But then Mike was smiling at him and Stan’s shoulders relaxed. Their professor had started class and was giving them a pointed look, a clear signal to stop talking. Stan’s focus lasted a couple of minutes until Mike tapped his shoulder and pointed to a note scribbled in his notebook.  
  
Stan couldn’t actually read what it said right away, too distracted by the blocky, familiar handwriting. He realized Mike was looking at him expectantly so he shook it off and read the note.  
  
_Are you going to the Halloween party tomorrow?  
_  
Stan nodded.  
  
When class ended Mike gathered his things and lifted his bag to his lap. Out of the corner of his eye Stan noticed a small yellow flower sticking out of the front pocket.

* * *

 

The Halloween party was really a night of events and activities spread out over UMaine’s sprawling campus. The frat houses that lined College Ave had colorful lights flashing in the windows, highlighting creepy cutouts. The football field at Alfond Stadium had turned into a winding hedge maze, carefully built and staffed by the team. The quad was turned into a massive dance floor, speakers posted around the perimeter and more lights hanging from trees filled with thick, fake spiderwebs. It was pretty standard for people to spend a couple hours milling around campus before retiring to more private house parties in the apartment buildings a short walk away.  
  
It wasn’t Stan’s favorite holiday, but it was the only one they could always share as a group so it was sort of sacred to their little band. As promised, Eddie had dressed as Spiderman and Richie as Starlord, shitty cardboard guns and all. Bill threw in some fake fangs and stole a cape from Bev to go as a vampire, another testament to how busy he was this semester. Then there was Bev, Ben, and Stan in tailored trio costumes. Richie wolf-whistled when Stan slipped his on, and even Stan had to admit it was tight in all the right places. Bev had also straightened his hair so it fell over his forehead, he had to sweep it a little to the side just to see. With a plastic lightsaber strapped to his belt he was ready.  
  
They had gathered in Bill and Eddie’s room to prepare, they were the furthest from the RA’s room so it was the designated area for any and all drinking. Bill gathered six mismatched shot glasses from their hiding spot in his closet and filled them with middle-shelf vodka. They gathered in a circle, holding the shots up into the center, and began a loud countdown. _3...2..1_. Eddie wrinkled his nose at the taste, Richie laughed and “kissed it better.” Bev had one arm slung around Bill’s shoulders as they confirmed the plan for the night while Ben held her other hand and smiled softly at her. Stan watched them all with a grin, five of the most important people in his life, and, for the first time, wondered if there might be room for one more.  
  
After another round of shots they braved the outdoors, water bottles loaded with an off balance vodka cranberry mix. They had no intention of visiting the frat house parties, they were infamously creepy and not in the fun Halloween kind of way. The football field was the furthest from them, all the way across campus, so they would start there and work their way back. Plenty of time to get good and drunk before they mingled with the crowd on the quad. Stan was feeling loose and happy when they arrived at the maze, one of Eddie’s arms slung around his hip and his own around Eddie’s shoulders. The maze completely engulfed the field, the fake bushes stood at least ten feet tall making it nearly impossible to get to the top, despite all of Bill and Richie’s best attempts in years past.  
  
“Are we doing teams or all together this year?” Ben asked as they neared the entrance.  
  
“All together, so Eddie and Richie can’t hold us up while they make out instead of trying to get out,” Bev answered, as if it should be obvious.  
  
“Shame,” a familiar voice spoke up from behind them, “I was going to volunteer to be on Stan’s team.”  
  
Stan spun to see Mike leaning on the edge of the entrance, dressed in an impeccable Finn costume. Because of _course_ they would have accidentally-almost-matching-costumes. Mike took a few steps towards them, his eyes raking down Stan’s body in a way that was would have reddened Stan’s cheeks if the alcohol wasn’t already doing the job.  
  
“I almost didn’t recognize you, Skywalker.”  
  
“I...don’t have a comeback because Finn doesn’t have a last name.”  
  
Mike grinned. Behind him a few very obviously high freshmen snuck into the maze.  
  
“Are you supposed to stop them?” Stan asked, pointing over Mike’s shoulder.  
  
“Nah, I’m just here to field calls from people who are lost. Then I’m supposed to go find them and carry them to safety or something.”  
  
“Maybe I should get lost,” Stan muttered, pulling his lips shut tight when he realized he had actually said that out loud. Except, with the solid buzz he was enjoying, he almost hoped Mike had heard it. If his raised eyebrows were any clue, he definitely had. Stan felt a little rush of confidence. “Are you stuck here all night or do you actually get to have fun tonight?”  
  
“The team is taking shifts, I’m here for another hour and then I’m free as a bird.”  
  
“Well we’ll be around. You have my number.”  
  
Nervous energy started to snake its way up his throat and his spun on his heel before he could embarrass himself. It was a bad choice. His friends stood there, grinning like idiots. He could see Richie’s mouth twitching as he used every ounce of his self-control to keep quiet. Bev was bouncing on her heels a little but stayed composed as she walked up and hooked her arm into Stan’s and yanked, toppling them both headfirst into the maze. Eddie laughed as he bolted after them. They were only about fifty feet in before Richie clapped Stan on the back hard enough to make him choke on the mixed drink he was determinedly pouring down his throat.  
  
“Way to go, Stanny! Get yourself some hot jedi ass!”  
  
“Finn isn’t a j-” Stan began, but cut himself off. It wasn’t worth it. He just shrugged and fell in line behind Eddie, their only real hope for making it out of this thing.

 

The DJ must have been playing _Thriller_ for at least the third time that night, but no one was complaining. The lights hanging in the tall trees wove a tapestry of colorful spiders over the quad, highlighting hundreds of young, drunk adults. The temperature had dropped down to fifty degrees but the crowd of bodies kept each other warm as they danced. Now Stan, Bev, Richie and Eddie stood in a messy circle belting out the lyrics and tossing their hips not-quite to the beat. Bill had disappeared with a pretty redhead about fifteen minutes ago. Their drinks lay empty and forgotten in the bottom of Richie’s backpack.  
  
Bev grabbed Stan’s hand and spun herself into the center of the group, grasping his other hand and swinging their arms between them. Her eyes drifted over the crowd behind him, something caught her eye over his shoulder and she stood up straighter, stifling a giggle with her palm. She raised his own arm over his head and pushed on his hip to get him to turn around.

Ben was walking towards them, two cups of water in his hands and beside him…Stan’s stomach nearly fell out his ass. Mike and Ben were laughing together as they reached the group. Ben handed one of the cups to Beverly and she thanked him with a kiss that lingered a little too long, leaving Stan and Mike to stand beside them awkwardly.

“Looks like I didn’t need to use your number after all.”

“Guess not,” Stan swallowed hard.

“Michael!” Richie interrupted.

_Thank god._

Richie stuck out his hand to shake Mike’s and introduced himself.

“Yeah I recognize you man, Eddie’s boyfriend, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Eddie said, but his hands held Richie’s arm tightly.

The small talk was interrupted by the Ghostbusters theme blaring. They fell back into their circle, Mike slipping easily between Ben and Richie, across from Stan. If he had been sober maybe Stan would have been better about keeping his eyes off of him, or at least keeping them on his face. But the buzz hadn’t worn off, making it impossible to ignore the tightening in his gut when he noticed the way Mike’s leather jacket hugged his arms and stretched over his broad chest. Stan wasn’t really sure why he was trying to hide his stare when Mike was not being especially subtle about eyeing the way Stan’s costume spread tightly on his chest and narrowed over his hips.

 _So come over here.  
_ _Do something about it._

He didn’t.

Suddenly Bill reappeared, his hair tousled, a dopey grin on his face. Stan looked closer and saw a phone number scrawled on the back of his hand. The group easily expanded to fit him into the circle, six comfortably becoming seven. Stevie Wonder’s _Superstition_ came next, not an especially sexy song, but the crowd took advantage of the beat to turn it into one. Couples around them started pairing off and getting close.   

Stan was relieved when none of his friends did the same. Instead, Bev took turns with each of the boys, playfully falling into their arms and swaying with them. When she got to Mike she put her hands around his neck, his went to her waist. They rolled their hips together a few times, a smooth grind that left Stan’s mouth dry. His eyes traveled up Bev’s back, over her shoulder, and found Mike’s own eyes already watching him. Heat rose to his cheeks. He kept up the burning look as long as he could but soon broke it, staring at the ground while he took a deep breath.

The song ended and the tension dissolved with it, comforting and disappointing all at once. Eddie tapped Stan’s shoulder.

“Back to the room?”

Stan nodded.

“Alright hooligans, let’s go!” Richie yelled. “Coming with, Mikey?”

Mike opened his mouth to answer but paused and looked back at Stan.

_At my pace._

Surprising even himself, Stan took the few steps to where Mike stood and took his hand. It wrapped around Stan’s easily, the warm weight sending butterflies swarming in Stan’s stomach.

“Yeah, thanks Rich,” Mike answered, gazing fondly at Stan.

 

Back in Bill and Eddie’s room they pulled out a stack of solo cups and refilled their drinks. Bill shoved his bed across the room so that it pressed up right against Eddie’s. Meanwhile Eddie was pulling down an old sheet from his closet and draping it over the pair of beds, protecting their own comforters. Bev crossed the room to plug in the matching strings of white Christmas lights on either side of the room, Ben flicked the harsh overhead light off when she was done. Stan went into Bill’s drawer to pull out a deck of cards. As soon as the sheet went down Richie tossed himself into the bed, scooting so his back leaned against the wall. He patted the spot next to him.

“Right here Mike, guest of honor definitely gets a wall seat. At least the first night.” He said it casually, like more nights together we’re a given. Mike laughed a thanks and took the invitation. Eddie went next, settling half next to and half on top of Richie. The others lingered, sipping their drinks, making no move to take the last spot against the wall on Mike’s left side.

_Oh._

Stan took the hint and filled the space, carefully crossing his legs. Bill, Ben, and Bev sat across from them, completing the semi-circle. Stan took the cards out of their box and put them down in front him. He spread them into a circle.

“You know the rules, Mike?” Bill asked.

“I know _some_ rules,” Mike replied. “I’m sure I can pick up the rest.”

“That’s the spirit,” Richie blurted, clapping Mike on the back. “Do the honors and go first, then.”

The game moved quickly, pushing them through two rounds of drinks. Richie pulled the last card, an ace, and they laughed as they all downed the last few sips in their cups. While Bill, Bev, Eddie, and Richie talked about plans for their annual camping trip Ben and Mike officially caught up. Stan eyed the clock on Eddie’s dresser, twelve forty-two. The night would have to end soon. Someone would yawn, then everyone would yawn and call it a night. Stan felt himself hoping with every passing minute that he would get just one more here in this room, the soft light reflecting the glow in his chest.  
  
Gravity pulled him down into a slouchy position, still leaning against the wall and stretching his legs out towards Bill across from him. As if pulled by a magnet Mike also shifted, his shoulder inching closer to Stan. He was explaining his thesis to Ben now, and Stan felt an inexplicable pride in the conviction in Mike’s voice. He let his head slide a few inches further down the wall, then a little further, and a little further still until it rested lightly on Mike’s shoulder.  
  
Without missing a beat Mike wrapped up his explanation to Ben. Then he turned to look at Stan, a soft smile spread across his features.  
  
“Hey,” he murmured.  
  
“Hi,” Stan breathed back.  
  
“I like your hair like this,” Mike’s hand came up to brush some of it behind Stan’s ear.  
  
Stan couldn’t answer, his eyes trained hard on Mike’s, his attention all on the invisible electricity sparking in the few inches that separated their lips.  
  
_I could just…  
__  
_ “Stan!” Richie’s jarring voice cut into Stan’s head. Right, there were other people on the planet. Stan had nearly forgotten.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“Bed, water, to be out of this outfit, not in that order.” Stan looked around to see that everyone was standing and stretching, ready to retire. Disappointment sunk like a stone into his gut but by now the clock read one twenty-three so it only made sense. He pushed up off of the bed and tried to twist to stretch his back, but his tight costume made it difficult. Still clumsy from the drinks he fumbled with the belt around his waist, twisting it and getting nowhere.  
  
“Here, let me,” Mike said, his fingers slipping between the buckle and Stan’s side, undoing it deftly and pulling it off.  
  
“Thanks,” Stan sputtered, trying to ignore the burn left where Mike’s hands had been.  
  
“I would offer to walk you back but it looks like you’ve got that covered,” Mike gestured to where Richie was collecting his costume props.  
  
“Yeah, we’re actually just down the other hall.”  
  
“Convenient. Well, then I guess I’ll see you on Tuesday?”  
  
“Tuesday,” Stan agreed. With a final wave to the rest of the group and a squeeze to Stan’s shoulder Mike was gone.

* * *

Tuesday was taking just about forever to get here, but at least Stan had his Monday observation to look forward to. Sure enough when he arrived to the clearing a small note poked out of the birdhouse.

_Dear Stan,_

_I’m really glad I found you guys on Friday. To be blunt you were kind of killing me in that costume. Kudos to Bev. Your friends are great, tell them thanks for being so welcoming. My favorite part was still being with you, though, even if it’s just sitting next to you. Say hi to Blueberry for me if you see him today.  
  
\- YNSSA_

This became the new routine. Stan would sit and finish his work, always with a new note tucked into his pocket. He always left a yellow flower in its place. Then they would sit in class together talking about homework, about Derry, about the future. But never about the notes. 

  
_Dear Stan,_

_I always wonder what you’re thinking about when you’re doodling in class. You probably don’t want to hear this but sometimes you stick your tongue out a little when you do it. It’s cute. I’m trying to keep all your flowers in a cup on my desk but most of them are dead now. Luckily I always have a new one to put there so I never run out of sunshine.  
  
\- YNSSA_

The others had been insistent about hanging out with Mike again so Stan had texted him, which had turned into frequent conversation, especially about Blueberry the blue jay who Mike always wanted an update on. They got in the habit of sending each other memes or other “made me think of you” texts. Mike joined them a couple of times a week to just hang out, blending into the tightly knit group like he had been there all along.  
  
_Dear Stan,_

_It’s crazy that Thanksgiving is so close. Funny that even if we both go home we’ll still be so close. You could come visit, if you wanted. I know it’s cheesy but sometimes I imagine us there together. I think you would like it, but maybe I just want you to. Either way we should all get together that weekend.  
  
\- YNSSA_

Three weeks into this arrangement Stan was over the moon most days. He woke up almost every morning to a good morning text and more often than not Mike was joining the group for lunch, always sitting with his thigh pressing into Stan’s. They made each other laugh easily, sharing a subtle sense of humor.

Every so often the question would worm its way into his ear.

 _What next?  
__  
_ If this was a shallow crush it would be easy to answer, but there was no way Stan could still pretend that’s all it was. He had started to share some of his insecurities about his academic future with Mike. What if no one cared about his research? What if he wasn’t convincing enough to get the funding? And each time Mike was reassuring, assuring Stan that he had the same worries about his own work.  
  
“But someone has to care, so let it be us.”  
  
They stumbled upon common ground in sharing their experiences growing up as anything but straight, christian, white boys in northern Maine. Stan mostly listened during these talks, empathizing where he could and sympathizing where he could not.  
  
On top of everything there was this new feeling of always wanting to be closer. Stan had always liked his space, even from his friends. With Mike he was always dying to be nearer, for their hands to brush, or, if he let his mind run away with him, for their bodies to be pressed against each other. Just sitting beside him in class was intoxicating, Stan’s focus always drifting.  
In short, he could feel himself falling in love with Mike Hanlon.  
_What next?_

Dear Stan,

_I think I figured out one of my favorite parts about you. You remind me of nature. Beautiful, strong, and impeccably organized.  
\- Mike_

_-Mike._

* * *

 

The Saturday before break started off like any other. Stan woke up a few hours before Richie and finished up a history assignment. When Richie woke they headed to have breakfast, a veggie omelet for Stan, waffles loaded with syrup for Richie. The trouble didn’t start until they made it back up to their room. Richie’s phone buzzed once, twice, three times in a row.  
  
“Eddie needs more chemistry notes,” he explained. Stan sighed. Eddie had been plucking his old chemistry notes out of his old binder all semester. He didn’t bother moving from his spot laying on his bed.  
  
“You know where they are.” He went back to scrolling through his phone, realizing too late that the binder was one half of his brilliant note hiding spot.

It all happened in slow motion; Richie reaching for the binder, his fingers wiggling the spine to pull it loose, sliding it off the shelf. Stan could only watch as the little slips of paper fell from the shelf onto his desk, fluttering gently on the way down. The worst part was that if Stan had just played it cool Richie probably would have ignored them. Instead, Stan leapt towards them with a yelp, his hand reaching out to grab at only air from all the way across the room.  
  
Richie froze, clutching the binder in front of him like it would protect him from whatever had made that noise. He collected himself, raising his eyebrows at Stan.  
  
“What the fuck, Stanley?” He followed Stan’s gaze to the notes now scattered across the desk. He picked one up and read it, his eyes widening.  
  
“Stan Uris, you sneaky little-”  
  
Stan interrupted by snatching the note out of his hand and collecting the others, his hands shaking.  
  
“So how long have you two been sneaking around? Getting freaky in the broom closets?”  
  
“It’s not like that, Richie. We aren’t together or anything.”  
  
“Why not? It’s Mike, right?  
  
Stan nodded.  
  
“Okay, and you’re definitely into him, so why not?”

“I’m _fine_ , Richie.”  
  
“Yeah, ‘fine’. There are things better than fine, Stan. You think I wasn’t scared shitless telling Eds I wanted him? It was completely fucking worth it, though. And you don’t even have to do that part, you already know he likes you!”  
  
Stan rubbed his temples trying to calm the storm raging in his head and spilling down into his chest. He tried to be angry, the combative tone of Richie’s voice was enough to make his blood boil, but really he was just tired. Tired of making excuses, tired of pretending he wasn’t head over heels, tired of the tension that never broke. He spoke barely above a whisper, flicking his eyes up to find Richie’s.  
  
“I’m scared.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Richie crossed the room in two long strides to stand in front of him. When he spoke again his voice was softer, his eyes never left Stan’s.  
  
“Look, if you tell me right now that you really do not want a relationship, that you are happier single, I’ll drop it. But if any part of you is curious about this, you can’t skip out on it because things might change.”  
  
“It’s not the change,” Stan admitted. “It’s how fucking unpredictable it is.” He fell back to sit on his bed, staring down at his sneakers. “There are so many things that could go wrong. And even if they don’t, even if things go right, there’s always new things down the line to figure out.”  
  
“Jesus, that’s life, Stan,” Richie laughed. “What about when we sat down at lunch with Bill and Eddie for the first time? Never could have known how that would go but I’d say it paid off.”  
“But that was you,” Stan grumbled.  
  
“Maybe the first time, but the next day you beat me there. Not really the point, though, don’t distract me-”  
  
“But it’s so easy.”  
  
“Fuck you, I’m trying to be deep. Listen, every time you decide to care about someone it’s risky. You’re right, sometimes it doesn’t work out. But sometimes it does. What if you had shut out Ben? Or Bev?” The question was clearly rhetorical, but it was true that Stan could never answer it.  
  
“Besides, Mike is crazy about you. The riskiest part is that you might have to break it off-” Richie shut his mouth at Stan’s suddenly panicked look and put his large hands on Stan’s shoulders. “Nope, backpedal, go back to when I was killing this.”  
  
Stan worried his lower lip between his teeth. Richie darted behind him to grab his phone, abandoned on his bed. He pushed it into Stan’s hands. If he said anything else it was drowned out by the loud rushing in Stan’s ears as he pressed his finger to the home button.

  
Thirty minutes for him to work up the courage to send the text. Three minutes for Mike to respond. An hour total before Stan sat on his boulder in the clearing, his foot tapping an anxious drumbeat on the smooth surface. The forest around him rustled, the floor littered with leaves. Looking at the ground Stan noticed that the yellow flowers had almost entirely disappeared, only a few left still soldiering under the birdhouse. Every little noise sped his heart. Only twelve minutes before he heard footsteps.  
  
Mike approached slowly, his eyes on Stan as he walked to stand by the birdhouse. He was smiling, wrapped up in that big blue sweatshirt again.  
  
_Is it too late to run?_ _  
_ _No, fuck it.  
__  
_ In four strides Stan was face to face with him. He wrapped his arms around himself protectively and rubbed his arm, keeping his eyes on the ground.  
  
“Hi,” his voice was a quiet whisper.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“I...So…”  
  
Mike paused Stan's stammering, taking his chin in his hand and gently tilting his face up to meet his eyes.  
  
“I’d offer to go first,” he laughed, “but I kind of already did.”  
  
“Right,” Stan mumbled.  
  
“Don’t overthink it.” He released Stan’s chin, and Stan fought the urge to bury his face in Mike’s chest.  
  
“I like you.” It was simple, soft, but it felt like a flood.  
  
“I like you too,” Mike echoed.  
  
“But like, I really like you,” now that he had started Stan couldn’t seem to stop. “And you’ve been so nice to me, you’re always so nice, and I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry.”  
  
Mike shook his head.  
  
“Don’t be. I meant what I said, your terms.”  
  
“Right, okay.” He paused for a deep breath. “I just want to tell you some things because you’ve been so open with me.” Stan reached into his pocket and pulled out a carefully folded note, staring at it while he built up the nerve to read it.  
  
“I could just read it, if you want,” Mike offered.  
  
“No, I should do this, stop making things so easy for me,” Stan teased, the tension lessening for the first time. Mike grinned and looked at him expectantly.  
  
“Here it goes.  _Mike, you were right that I’m not an easy person to get close to. I’m always thinking about what might go wrong, but so far with you everything has only gone right. You’re easy to trust. I love that you’re passionate about what you do and that you encourage me to keep up my work. Also, I thought you looked good in your halloween costume too._ I didn’t really know how to end it...”  
  
Dying to see Mike’s reaction, Stan raised his eyes to find Mike’s full of affection. He raised his hand to Stan’s cheek, running his thumb over his cheekbone. He spoke with a honey thick voice.  
  
“Can I kiss you?”

“Let me,” Stan whispered, pushing himself up to capture Mike’s lips, gently, at first, and then more insistent when he felt Mike’s hands on his back holding him close. He melted into the soft fabric of Mike’s hoodie as he wrapped his arms around Mike’s neck and parted his lips enough to let Mike capture his bottom lip between his own. The kiss was steady, patient, but full of promise, especially when Mike’s tongue teased across his top lip. Stan shivered, his fingers digging into Mike’s skin.

When he pulled back, breathless, Mike chased him for one more quick kiss, still holding him tightly.  
  
“Worth the wait.”  
  
“Mmhmm,” Stan hummed in dreamy agreement. He lay his head against Mike’s chest and let himself lean into the feeling of being wrapped up in each other.  
  
“I’d like to come visit. Over break, I mean. See the farm.”  
  
“Please. It’s not much to look at in November, but I can bring you around, show you my favorite hiding spots in the barn.”  
  
_Private hiding spots, hopefully_.  
  
Already a little addicted, Stan stole another kiss, feeling Mike smile against his lips. Suddenly a small bird flew into the clearing, its bright blue wings flashing against the gray of the trees.  
  
“Is that him?” Mike asked, excited,  
  
“No,” Stan laughed, “he’s much bigger. Come with me Monday, you’ll probably see him.”  
  
“Deal,” Mike laced their fingers together. He bent down and plucked one of the last few yellow flowers, twirling it between his fingers. Stan watched it spin, thinking.  
  
“Thank you,” he said finally. “For being patient with me.” Mike smiled, his eyes shining. He brought the flower up and tucked it behind Stan’s ear, leaving his hand to cup his cheek again.  
  
“Anything for you, sunshine.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! let me know what you think!  
> also @tozierbraks on tumblr


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